Dressing for the Occasion
by sandysoul
Summary: Jack tries an interesting disguise, and the Commodore is...interested. SLASH.


_**Warning:** This story contains slash. Not your thing? Don't read._

_**Disclaimer:** None of them belong to me. Pirate!_

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**_Dressing for the Occasion_**

"It was a favor to Will and his lady, honest. Are you really going to hang me for coming to meet me godson, Commodore?"

"Of course I'm not going to hang you!" Commodore Norrington snapped. Captain Jack Sparrow blinked in surprise; it wasn't the answer he'd been expecting. Come to think of it, when was the last time Norrington had agreed with him on anything, much less the important matter of keeping his neck free of the noose? "I have no wish to cause the Turners unnecessary pain," he explained stiffly.

"Right." Jack paused. "Well, right then." He spun on his heel and took one giant step toward the Turners' front door. Norrington grabbed his arm.

"Hold. If you are seen strolling through Port Royal I will have to arrest you, whatever my sympathies with your situation."

"I knew it. I _knew_ there was a catch. I made me own way in, mate, I can make it back out."

Will snickered, and the Commodore shot him a dirty look.

"Are you aware that the _Invincible_ anchored in the Port Royal harbor at sunset?"

"_Ahh._ No." Jack grimaced guiltily but couldn't quite suppress the smirk around the corners of his mouth. "Have they sobered up yet, then?"

Elizabeth looked up, her attention finally distracted from the sleeping bundle of pink flesh that Jack privately thought was as ugly as any other baby he'd ever seen, although a healthy respect for Elizabeth's temper kept him from saying so. "Sobered up?"

Norrington turned to Elizabeth with an air of great patience. "The _Black Pearl_ successfully attacked the _Invincible_ en route to the Caribbean, three weeks ago. After relieving her of her cargo, _Captain_ Sparrow,"—now, how did that man make his title sound like an insult?—"jested that the ship's name was inappropriate, a jest that apparently was not fully appreciated by the ship's crew. Sparrow therefore,"—if Norrington's tone got any icier, his tongue would freeze, surely—"insisted that the crew needed to...'lighten up,' was it? and held a drunken party. At gunpoint."

Jack chuckled reminiscently. "Aye, but they were a much friendlier bunch after a drink or two. Not to mention funny."

"Now however they are sober, and their crew—all 150 men, including the marines—are roaming through Port Royal, quite loud in declaring their wish to meet you again. I have the impression that they are not looking to renew the friendship."

"Mate, I've got to be going. The _Pearl_'s waiting...elsewhere, and I'd hate to be an embarrassment to you here, eh? I can take care of meself, never fear."

"If you intend to head for the docks, you'd best give the Turners your farewells first. Perhaps they will insure you receive burial at sea."

Jack hesitated. To tell the truth, his plan of escape had been little better than, 'Head for the dingy, avoid men in red coats.' He hadn't counted on a town full of vengeful sailors out for his blood.

"Well, honestly. Jack will simply have to disguise himself. Hardly a trial—without the hair and paint around his eyes, and with a decent set of clothing, he'll be a different person." Elizabeth, having disposed of the problem, turned back to coo nauseatingly at John William Turner.

"No. Not the hair," Jack said instantly. "Took years to get it right, 'm not cutting it."

"Your hair means more to you than your life?" Will asked curiously.

"You haven't seen me without it. I'm telling you mate, not the hair."

"Fine, not the hair. Will, look after the baby. Come on, Jack." Elizabeth stood up and held out a hand imperiously. Searching the room for help, Jack caught a studiously innocent look from Will and an amused, aloof eyebrow from Norrington. Sighing theatrically, he took Elizabeth's hand and made a great show of being unwillingly dragged from the room.

Norrington clasped his hands behind his back, at a loss what to say. Will paid more attention to rocking the crib than such a gentle motion seemed to warrant, apparently equally uncomfortable.

"So, was—"

"He looks—"

They spoke over one another and stopped. Norrington nodded to Will. "So. Um, I was going to ask what brought you here—not, I mean that you aren't always welcome, Commodore,"—Will floundered, "that's not what I—but was there something..." he trailed off.

"I understand, Mr. Turner. I wished to deliver the letters the _Invincible _brought from England as soon as possible. I know your wife has been anxious for news of her father." Norrington withdrew several heavy envelopes from inside his coat and presented them to Will with a slight bow.

Awkward small talk about the former governor's trip to England and various other news that the _Invincible _had brought occupied the time and covered most of the muffled protests coming from upstairs. Occasionally a few words came through clearly—"unless you have a better idea"—and "but you keep the hair," and once a burst of loud laughter. Nearly an hour later, Elizabeth came downstairs, snickering.

"Well, since he wouldn't give up the hair, we had to get creative, but I don't think anyone will recog—_snort_—sorry, recognize him." She wiped at her eyes and shouted, "Jack, come on!"

"I don't _bloody_ believe I'm doing this." Norrington glanced upward at the familiar throaty voice. His jaw dropped.

Descending the staircase was a dark-skinned beauty in a green velvet dress. The delicate-boned face was topped with elaborate braided loops, in a somewhat bizarre style evidently designed to tuck all the trinkets and the worst of the dreadlocks out of sight. The wide, dark eyes were still outlined with kohl but the full lips were reddened as well, sensuously perched over a charmingly rounded chin. The cheeks were smooth and the neck bare, disappearing into a bodice draped with something gauzy. The dress nipped in tightly at the waist, then spread into a full skirt that whispered over the stairs. Long gray gloves gave the disguise a finishing touch.

At the look on Norrington's face and her husband's stunned horror, Elizabeth lost it completely. She fell helplessly into a chair, laughing until her eyes ran with tears. It gave Norrington a chance to pull himself together and rearrange his scrambled thoughts. The beauty narrowed her eyes and tilted her head suspiciously, a gesture so entirely Jack that it skewed him off-balance again. "Have a problem, mate?" she asked.

"I—no, no," he stuttered. Gaining some control over his voice, he said, "I believe that will do admirably." Jack finished coming down the stairs and stood next to Norrington—how had he never noticed before what a slight figure Jack had? The top of his piled hair barely reached the level of Norrington's eyes and he thought Jack's waist might be trim enough to be spanned by his hands. He clasped his hands more tightly behind his back to resist the temptation to try it.

"So long then, Will, Lizzy. Try not to do anything incredibly stupid, I'll be back to see you someday." Jack grinned, the gold teeth flashing incongruously in the pretty face. Lifting his skirts fastidiously, he turned to leave. Norrington grabbed his arm.

"What _now_, Commodore?" Jack spat.

"I believe—I should escort you to your destination," Norrington said.

"Like hell."

"Can I give you my word I mean you no harm?" he said, exasperated. "I simply believe that your...disguise...might lead to ah, the risk of unwelcome attentions of a different sort." His face was burning.

"'M still armed, Commodore." Where had he put his sword? Norrington wondered.

"Regardless, the best course is to get you out of town as quickly as possible, and a fight would interfere. I will escort you to whatever vessel you choose." Jack shrugged that bare shoulder, rendered soft and mysterious by the transparent grey shawl, and opened the door.

"Goodbye, Jack, Commodore!" Elizabeth hooted before dissolving into laughter again. Will made as though to shake Jack's hand, stopped in confusion, and then waved weakly before shutting the door on the stream of light coming from their tiny cottage. Jack turned his back on the Commodore and set off at a brisk walk. Norrington trotted to catch up. Stalking in offended silence, Jack refused to look at him. Unable to help himself, he looked sideways at that exotically lovely face. Where had Elizabeth come up with the face paint? Not to mention that vibrantly green dress, a color no honest woman would wear. He'd never before noticed the fineness of Jack's features, the grace and aristocratic lines of nose and chin. The sweetness of his mouth. _Oh, God._

Jack slid his own sideways look at the Commodore and caught him staring. Norrington felt the color rise in his face again, and Jack's lips twitched. Suddenly, he swept his skirt up with one hand and laid the other on Norrington's arm, imitating a lady's comportment with mocking accuracy. "My, Commodore," he purred, "so kind of you to escort me through town." He flirted his lashes ridiculously.

The laugh came bubbling out of him, unexpectedly silly. "Not at all, ma'am. It is a pleasure to accompany so lovely a lady."

Tilting his head again, Jack regarded him thoughtfully. "Never seen you laugh before, mate. It looks good on you. Who'd have thought?"

Norrington chuckled and felt Jack squeeze his forearm gently. Turning to look at him again, he was caught by the speculation in Jack's black eyes. It disappeared before he could be sure. He hurried to find something else to say, something less dangerous than this giddy warmth at Jack's compliment.

"So, er—why _are_ you so set against cutting your hair?" he said, then cursed himself. Idiotic question. "I mean," he babbled, "you're dressed like this to avoid it—"

"Thought you'd see that fer yerself, Commodore. I'm too bloody pretty to be a pirate," Jack grinned. "Cut the hair and lose the," his left hand dropped the skirt and whirled vaguely in the air, "beard and beads and bangles, people get to noticing that."

_Indeed_. Norrington licked his lips and thanked God that the town of Port Royal was not very large. They were approaching the docks, and other than a few speculative glances at Jack and a wolf whistle, Norrington's uniform had attracted more attention than his companion. Or perhaps his uniform had attracted attention because of his companion.

"I hadn't thought, but my morals may well come into question if anyone sees me with you," he murmured, amused.

"Don't sweat it mate," Jack whispered back. "I'll bet you that most will be happier knowing even the upright Commodore is human enough to take his trousers off now and then. Over here, mate."

Choking at that last comment, Norrington realized that they had reached the end of one of the smaller, less used docks, where a small dingy was tied. Automatically, he stepped into the boat and offered Jack a hand as though he were in fact a member of the gentler sex.

Jack took it and swung himself neatly, skirts and all, into the boat. They were standing very close now, both balancing without thought to the movement of wood on water. Then Jack moved forward and kissed him.

It was sweet and hot and tentative, exploring and moving. Jack's mouth was as soft as any woman's he'd ever kissed, and he found himself wondering if it would feel different if Jack still had his beard. The thought sent a thrill down his spine and he gasped. Jack took immediate advantage, tasting his teeth and tongue. Then he drew back. They were still standing a few inches apart, no part of their bodies having touched except their mouths. Commodore Norrington swallowed hard and rested one hand on Jack's cheek.

"'M not a woman, mate," Jack said very softly.

"But far too pretty," Norrington answered. His own voice sounded foreign, rough. Jack smiled.

"If I might be returning to Port Royal—by chance—but causing no harm, mind you," he said, "would you hang me for wanting to visit?"

"I have no wish to suffer unnecessary pain," Norrington said.

Norrington climbed from the dingy. Jack cast off and rowed as silently as he could into the dark sea that he knew as well as any lover. The tall figure remained on the dock until the night erased him and Jack was alone. It was only then that it occurred to Jack that Norrington's last statement had been ambiguous.

Jack knew as well as anyone that some things rolled in like the tide, whether you wanted them or not. Commodore Norrington? Not what he had expected from tonight, but he could feel the tide rising in his blood and bones, and wasn't going to fight it. There would be a time for them, pain or no pain. There would be time. He bent his back to the oars and drove the tiny boat toward the _Pearl_.

And just maybe he should write to Elizabeth. To thank her for the dress.

**_finis_**


End file.
